And in case I don't see you-- good afternoon, good evening, and good night.
Moving. States, coasts, and websites. Ask and I'll tell.
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there's a girl in new york city who calls herself the human trampoline. and sometimes when i'm falling, and flying, and tumbling in turmoil, i say whoa... so this is what she means...
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| contact. |
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talk to me.
write me.
another shameless plug...
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| links. |
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fruits of the imagination.
the pictures.
(password given upon request.)
voice of an angel.
che tempo fa?
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| who are you, really? |
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i have more separate personalities than I know what to do with. i find reflections of myself everywhere. i love a lemon ginger soda which i've only had five times, and the five bottles are scattered throughout my room because they're pretty and blue and i don't want to throw them away. i have a memory drawer with receipts from a bus stop in the middle of italy, a crushed bag of red and whie m&ms, and a scribbled bunch of papers with a song written to me on them to the tune of "american pie."
i've had this blog for two years now and the only string of continuity is my username. addresses, templates, and my own writing can change suddenly and without warning. i feel that i have a Style but i've never been able to articulate it. i don't really think i want to.
i think of dates by a soundtrack. i have a passion to create which is so overwhelming I can't get it out of me. my car is named nausicaa and at times is the most blessed gift imaginable, when the night is forever and the lights on el camino pierce through it and the white lines are mine to drive through and laugh. important things happen to me at the change of the seasons. i walk around the circle talking to myself, and sometimes you think i'm memorizing lines, but i'm not.
i scold myself constantly but let my exasperation smile into affection. i write in little volumes called "introspective writing books" into which i hope to pour emotion as i sit leaning against my wall, my face unforgiving and unchanging. i have dreams no one knows. i listen to italian music and know all the words.sometimes, when i'm in a good mood, i listen to music to make myself cry because i remember. i love people who i don't want to love me back.
i love my school with a power and passion that defies explanation. i sing to myself. constantly. sometimes, when it's late at night and i have better things to be doing, i'll lie down on the floor looking at myself in the mirror and sing for hours. i find myself in situations which no one could dream of and i find myself spineless and powerless to stop them. i'm trying to change this fact. i treat the weather as my soundtrack, and feed off of it, revelling in the sunny days in february, streaming through the golden, and the beautiful might of freak rainstorms. this, along with fresh produce, boundless opportunity, and lots of green, is My California. i scream at myself when i know i've done nothing wrong, i hate myself as I tell myself it's okay. because it's not. i am superstitious beyond belief. i'm attached to things which i know i have to let go of. i find myself being moved by things i told myself i never would.
i have internal dialogues running through my head. always. my role models are two women, one of whom i knew all too well and don't know why i idolize, one of whom is the most courageous human being i know, even though i've never met her. i tell complete strangers things they don't care about, but sometimes they do. i twirl around my kitchen in socks like a five year old. i make myself beautiful just for my sake, no one else's. music has a power over me which sometimes amazes, sometimes scares me. i love people way more than can be healthy, and sometimes they don't know, sometimes they don't know me, sometimes they'd never expect that i owe part of who i am to them.
my life runs in a web of patterns and coincidences and dreams and events which leaves me speechless and prostrate at its path. there is no other explanation. i love people, i love watching them and watching them move, and i want nothing more than to walk through a beautiful city and be part of them. i've written this sidebar over eighteen months and am beginning to move on.
i dream of living in a tiny brick apartment and i'd step outside and italy would be waiting. i am in love with the town of ross, california. i think i'm walking in a screensaver. i compare my social life to chemical reactions. i find friends in the oddest places, and sometimes the best ones are the ones i've always known i needed to make but sometimes life just throws them at me. i'm something different to every person but i still don't know who i am to myself. i write in a tiny painstaking way which even i can't explain, and i have an attachment to Pilot blue extra-fine tipped pens which i don't think anyone could understand.
i love you. even if you don't think I do.
and all I want is for someone to say: carey, I love you. I love you just the way you are, I love every little oddity you have.
please don't ever change.
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